i have been made new
by BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: Skye realizes, at six thirty in the morning, when she feels the bed dip and hears Jemma's soft steps out the door, that she may have made a terrible, terrible mistake. (or: christmas with the simmons family)


**I AM WEAK FOR KID FIC AND HOLIDAY FICS PLEASE DONT JUDGE ME**

**in other news, i'm still terrified of flying and of coming out to my family so please enjoy this fluffy skimmons (mostly canon compliant) future fic ft. ada may simmons as my happy holiday gift to y'all**

**disclaimed**

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><p>Skye realizes, at six thirty in the morning, when she feels the bed dip and hears Jemma's soft steps out the door, that she may have made a terrible, terrible mistake. She hears the door down the hall open. Maybe if she burrows deeper into the bed then—?<p>

She hears whispers—Ada's voice pitches up with excitement, and Jemma shushes her gently. If it weren't pre-dawn, Skye would smile. But it is pre-dawn, so she drags the blanket over her head.

The whispering nears the door—Skye glances down blearily to check that she's fully dressed. She just wants to sleep for, like, an hour more. Maybe two. _Ah_, she thinks, _the perks of marrying a morning person._

She suddenly has the sensation of someone standing near her, and cracks open an eye, poking her head out from under the covers just enough to—

"Shi—," Skye startles, catching the look that Jemma levels her with. "Sunshine," she covers, reaching out for her daughter and rolling her into bed. "What if you never wake Mama up like that, ever again?"

Ada kneels on Skye's stomach—she hides her wince and swallows the groan—and takes Skye's face in her chubby hands. "Mama," she states, eyes solemn. "Santa came."

Oh.

Right.

She brings her knees up to support Ada's back, and takes her daughter's little hands in her own. "I don't think so," she says, making sure that Ada sees her smile, doesn't take her too seriously. "Jem, wouldn't we have heard something?"

Jemma grins, coming round to her side of the bed and joining them. "Well, love, I thought I heard jingle bells…" Ada nods seriously, leaping off of Skye to sprawl across her mother's lap.

Skye makes a face. Jemma claims that their daughter has no favorites, but it's so ridiculously obvious that she favors Jemma—Skye would be jealous if it wasn't so adorable to see Ada playing dress up in Mummy's lab coats.

"So, the big guy came?" Skye confirms, raising her eyebrows at Ada. She holds eye contact and promptly makes the most ridiculous face that Skye has ever seen, stuck somewhere halfway between exasperation and excitement. She bites back a laugh, but Jemma fails in doing so and snorts, covering her mouth out of surprise. "Alright Adabug, obviously Mummy is _super_ excited—."

"Me too!" Ada exclaims indignantly, frowning. Skye fights the urge to roll her eyes.

There's a part of her that wants to say _Jemma, take your daughter to get breakfast so I can sleep for another hour_, but Ada is still so little, only four, and she takes things so seriously and Skye thinks that saying something like that, even jokingly, would probably traumatize her. And Jemma. And Skye. Really, everyone would be traumatized.

And Skye also remembers last Christmas, and how their otherwise serious little girl quickly became a shrieking, giggling ball of excitement at the sight of so many carefully wrapped presents.

And she didn't stay up until two to finish wrapping a Barbie Dream House for nothing. It was a _bitch_ to wrap, honestly, and Skye had only volunteered to wrap it when Jemma nearly burst into tears when the paper had ripped on a corner of the structure.

They were both—

for very different reasons, they both were extremely committed to the concept of making sure that their kid had the best Christmas experience, always. Jemma, because she wanted to give to Ada what her parents had given to her—cookies and ice skating and countless memories that she held onto in some of her darkest days. Skye, because she wanted Ada to have everything she'd never been allowed—a stocking on the mantle, presents with her name under the tree, the unshakable conviction that she was loved more than anything.

So she gets up, reaching for a cardigan that was probably her wife's when she shivers in the cool air of the house. She's halfway out the bedroom when Jemma clucks her tongue, tossing her a different shirt that she's materialized from nowhere, because that's definitely not a shirt that Skye owns.

It's red, with little snow people dotting it, and, she realizes, matches the one that Jemma has pulled on, and the nightdress that Ada wears. "Where did you get these?" she asks in wonder, noticing a little family of snow people on the pocket—snow women, that are obviously meant to represent their family.

Jemma grins. "I know people," she answers vaguely. "Do you like it?"

Ada tugs at the sleeve of her dress and says shyly, "I helped pick." Skye smiles at her, kneels in front of her daughter and holds the shirt in her hands reverently.

"I _love _it," she assures her, glancing up to make eye contact with Jemma, who has an identical look of shy pride. "I really do. We'll all match."

**...**

"Wait!" Jemma shouts, but Ada's already halfway down the stairs with no intention of stopping. "Skye—?" she asks, a little helplessly. "I want to have the camera ready?"

Skye nods, leaning forward to peck her lips quickly. "I'll get her," she tosses over her shoulder, dashing after their kid, takes the stairs two at a time. "Ada-bug," Skye sings, leaning down to catch her daughter round the waist and swing her up into the air. "Mumma wants to get some pictures," she adds, unnecessarily. Ada shrieks happily, giggling when Skye repeats the motion, and Skye would keep doing that, except for the fact that Jemma's slipped in and out of the living and gives her a thumbs up, beaming.

She carries Ada in on her hip, but finally lets her slide to the floor at the entrance of the room because she keeps fidgeting, and Ada squeaks when she sees the small mountain of presents piled under and around the tree.

"Oh," Jemma breathes, coming up beside Skye, arm winding around her waist, snapping pictures quickly. "How did you manage to wrap the house?" She keeps her voice low, because the Dream House is from Santa, as shown by the note attached to it, in Jemma's carefully disguised print. Skye shrugs. It's a gift; not something easily explained.

(she'd wrapped individual sections like a fucking _boss_, cried a little, and then taped the shit out of it—but Jemma doesn't need to know that right now)

They'd split Santa duties, due in part to the minor breakdown on Jemma's end at around midnight, so it was Skye that had eaten three quarters of the cookies and drunk the milk, that had nibbled at the carrot sticks (she'd cursed Jemma then—she was the one that had convinced their daughter to leave out snacks for the reindeer, all while aiming a smug smirk in her wife's direction).

Ada calms a little, long enough to start making methodical piles—one in front of the couch, which is Skye's seat of choice; another in front of Jemma's favorite armchair. She makes her own pile in the middle of the floor, eyes widening to something akin to saucers every time she glances at it, on her way to and from the tree.

This goes on for a good ten minutes, before Jemma finally sighs. "Ada, love, Mama and I can organize the rest. You can—."

She doesn't have the chance to finish her sentence, which Skye knows probably bugs her a little, but Ada slides over the hardwood on her socks and skids to a halt in front of her gifts, and Skye can't keep it together, really, and Jemma starts to laugh soon after.

Ada spares them a questioning glance, and Skye nods encouragingly, tugging Jemma with her towards the couch.

Normally, she'd be fine to sit in different places, but today is Christmas and it's cold and still dark out and Skye just wants to cuddle with her wife on the couch. Jemma makes a face, contradicting the look in her eyes—soft and warm and _Jemma_. She slips away from Skye to collect her gifts and bring them over, adding them to Skye's before pulling her wife's legs onto her lap.

Ada's staring at her gifts, reaching out to one before switching directions before doing it all over again, obviously conflicted.

"Love," Jemma gets their daughter's attention. Ada turns her head to look at her mother. "Why don't you start with the littlest one?" she suggests.

"Oh," Ada mumbles. "Smart." She starts a breathy rendition of jingle bells as she digs through her pile of presents.

Skye watches her fondly—she'd be happy to watch paint dry if Ada was around, honestly—and only glances away when she feels something tickle her forehead. She glances up. Raises an eyebrow at Jemma.

"Would you look at that?" Jemma grins. "Mistletoe."

"Jem—."

"I have no idea how that got there."

Skye eyes the hand that's holding the sprig. But. What can she do? Tradition, and all.

She smirks, leaning in to kiss her wife. Jemma tastes like candy canes and cinnamon and warmth and hope and _future_, blinding and near, very much within Skye's hands. Jemma's beaming when she pulls back, cheeks tinged pink.

"You know, you don't have to rely on a plant to get me to kiss you," Skye says, a laugh tingeing her words.

Jemma tugs on Skye's pajama pants, whispering, "Come closer, you're too far away."

And Skye has no choice but to do as she's requested, really, because Jemma is warm and sweet smelling, hand on her calf and then around her waist when Skye moves, curling her legs to the other side so she can lean against Jemma's shoulder.

Ada's selected a present and sits on the floor, criss-cross applesauce, and rips into the paper. Skye doesn't think of the inevitable mess that they'll all make of the living room, doesn't think of shit ton of assembling she and Jemma'll have to do for the play set that Coulson bought Ada—

really though, how could she?

Her entire world is in this room, and it's snowing outside, and Skye thinks that maybe Hallmark wasn't lying when it marketed Christmas as the happiest time of the year.

**...**

(she thinks that maybe Jemma planned it all—the sweaters, the everything—combined just enough emotion and pouting to get Skye pliant enough to agree to cheesy, coordinated pictures in front of the tree. She's not complaining, though—

she'd never complain about being loved by someone as wonderful as Jemma Simmons)

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><p><strong>i'm literally so emotional about skimmons you don't even know<strong>


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